Like a great wave of wild stallions the city streets are awake and the morning erupts with the sub-audibal frequencies and thunderous blast of car traffick. Individualy wraped pilots blast ghetto beats from Cadillac slabs each with their own tempo and temperament. A new week, a new opportunity for some, simple spillage for others, and others still with slack both false and earned, and we, and they, are all getting what we, and what they, deserve in the end. Is "Bob" getting your one dollar?...


"Gradually, as if God was fiddling with the volume, sounds from the real world returned; traffic from nearby city streets - car-horns, screeching tyres, garbage trucks... gun-shots near and far, police sirens, feral pigeons fighting with kleptoparasite seagulls and the gritty hiss of five hundred thousand people grinding their teeth. The only sound from the skies was the familiar, if not reassuring buzz of surveillance drone 'copters..."

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